Drawing Down the Moon
by Miss Jo1
Summary: Follow Draco and Hermione's relationship from tentative friendship to courtship as they learn about each other, the complexities of human nature and magic. This will be novel length, so no sexy stuff for a while, sorry!


Title: Drawing down the Moon

Author: lucretziathevagabond

Rating: NC-17 (for the story as a whole)

Pairing: Dr/H eventually

Disclaimer: I am merely attempting to improve my writing skills; not to offend anyone or infringe on a copyright. Harry Potter and all associated characters are the property of JKR, Bloomsbury, et al.

Author's Note: This story title is based on a song by the band Gaia Consort. For the record, I'm not trying to infringe on their copyright either. I just hope you like the song and buy their music.

Chapter 1: The Meeting/Father Knows Best

Dear Merlin, this meeting was boring.

Draco fought the urge to yawn as he leaned back in his chair and looked around the faculty lounge. It was midsummer, and a gentle breeze blew through the open window as a patch of skin on his neck was warmed by the sun filtering in. Dear god, would this meeting ever end?

Neville was sketching some sort of plant as he pretended to listen to McGonagall drone on. Professor Flitwick appeared to be paying his bills, whilst nodding during every pause the Scottish headmistress made as though he were paying attention. Professor Trelawney had fallen asleep and was snoring softly, oblivious to the glares she was getting from her boss.

"All right, one more thing and then you can hand in your lesson plans for approval before leaving." With the end clearly in sight, all heads jerked up to pay attention. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"The Shrieking Shack was sold at the end of the school year to a private buyer. The owner prefers to stay anonymous at this time, but she assures us that in the event of an evacuation, students will be able to enter the house for safety. Otherwise, there will be wards in place to prevent students from accessing the house."

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"I wonder who bought the Shack", Draco mused as he and Neville made their way back to the Hogwarts gates. Though the friendship may seem odd, Neville and Draco had formed an alliance shortly after they both arrived at the school, the ink on their mastery certificates barely dry. Originally, they assumed their previous hate relationship, but that didn't last long. After fights and hexes that landed them both in the infirmary, the two had declared a truce. In truth, they were the youngest faculty members by about 50 years in the massive castle, and needed someone to talk to.

Five years later, the two had become, if not friends, then at least close allies. Neville's Herbology classes grew ingredients that were eventually used in Draco's Potions classes. Draco made potions for the inevitable injuries that occurred while novice students attempted to grow and prune plants that could bite or inject poisonous venom.

The only lingering rivalry existed concerned the two heads of house's Quidditch teams. Even then, instead of hexes the losing head of house had to buy the other an agreed on reward. Draco rather enjoyed his comfortable velvet sofa and Neville was equally proud of an antique sideboard that graced his private quarters, compliments of a winning season for Slytherin and Gryffindor respectively. If Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw won, the two would merely pool their money, get drunk on disgustingly expensive scotch and wallow in their misery together.

"It's Hermione Granger. She called me to ask me if I wanted some murtlap that she found on the property. Apparently it's been growing in some sort of covered carriage drive, out of the light. I took almost a kilo, if you want to distill it for your classes. I'm just letting the leaves dry now." The blonde man nodded in thanks.

"I haven't seen Granger since university. Is she still curse breaking?" Draco wanted to know. Neville nodded.

"Yeah, she does a lot of ward setting on old estates on the continent, and breaking the really old curses. Apparently, she makes more in a month than we do in six. Of course, Ginny told me that so I don't know if it's true or not." Neville shook his head at the thought of the youngest Weasley, now gainfully employed as a junior sports reporter for the Prophet and a notorious gossip.

Draco smiled faintly as he remembered Granger in University. The curriculum was designed for the best in wizarding society, and Draco's four years there were the best of his life. The war had ended, and away from all the drama in England, he had blossomed into the Quidditch captain of a winning team and had excelled in his studies.

Granger had been there on a scholarship, and they had formed a cautious friendship. They had different majors (Magical Theory and Charms for her, Potions with a concentration in forensic toxicology for him), but had studied together in the evenings in front of a blazing fire. She would cheer for him-well the team, but he liked to think it was for him-during matches and he would tease her about her green and silver scarf, the team colors of the University of Luxembourg du Moselle Lionnes.

Their last year, she had gone to Cairo to apprentice to Bill Weasley and he had left for Scotland to suffer under his godfather's watchful eye as a apprentice lecturer and potions brewer. Severus Snape cut him no slack, and he was a better brewer and teacher for it. At first, they exchanged owls, eventually it dwindled to nothing. He hadn't heard from her in almost two years.

"So I assume she's not going to be taking over for any professors then. She's just moving to Hogsmeade because she wants to." Draco couldn't imagine choosing to live in sleepy Hogsmeade when you traveled the world as a curse breaker, but the peace and quiet was probably part of the allure.

"I guess. It will be good to have her around. She's changed a lot since the war."

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The only person alive who had known about his growing interest in the young muggleborn was, rather interestingly, his father. He had confessed it one night after a particularly horrible date with yet another witch his mother had set him up on. The girl had been vapid, and he blurted his secret to Lucius, then waited for the anger.

There was none.

Lucius had merely told him to keep his head down, and that by the time Miss Granger had become confident enough in herself that she could handle being a Malfoy wife, no one would care about her bloodlines anymore. It was as good as endorsement as he could possibly get. His father would occasionally send bits of information he had learned about her along in an owl to Draco at Hogwarts. Of course, Neville got more first hand information, as they were still friends.

After agreeing to meet for drinks over the weekend; they apparated to their respective ancestral homes. Lucius was in Geneva for a conference, and Draco had promised to take his mother to Diagon Alley for dinner. Narcissa had sounded perky over the phone; he had a sinking feeling he would be going on another date.

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Dear Merlin, this meeting was boring.

Hermione turned her head to look out the massive windows at Lake Geneva, the sun sparkling off of the pristine blue water drawing her in as she tuned out the speaker who was droning on about the advances that had been made in standardizing the measurement system across the developed magical world. Seriously, did this require a one hour speech? They had pretty much all been using the imperial measurement system anyway, with a select few countries holding out.

With a wave of his wand, the speaker brought up a depiction of a cauldron and began to describe how to measure it. Pulling out her I-Pod, she slipped one ear bud on and stared back out at the water.

After what seemed to be a lifetime later, the International Council of Magical Practitioners broke for dinner. Hermione joined the shuffle out of the meeting room, and was pulled aside by a warm arm that belonged to a familiar face.

"Ambassador Devenue!" She reached out to embrace the Swiss ICM ambassador.

"Miss Granger. I noticed you were about as interested in how to measure a cauldron as I was". His bright green eyes twinkled as he tucked her arm into his and led her away from the crowd. She blushed at the comment.

"Yes, well…" He laughed and led her out a side door into the hustle and bustl of the city.

"I refuse to eat the mass prepared swill they serve at these things. So, I am kidnapping you to accompany my colleague and I to a far better establishment. I promise you stimulating conversation and the best seafood you've ever eaten. Ah, there he is now."

Hermione allowed herself to be led down the street. The sun was beginning to set, and gas lights were flickering on as they passed the busy shops. They stopped in front of a tall man with long blonde hair and wearing a familiar cane. He looked at her with a warm smile that didn't falter even when he heard her name.

"Lucius Malfoy, please allow me to present Ms Hermione Granger, magical theorist and cursebreaker for the European Banking Confederation. Ms Granger, this is Lucius Malfoy, the British Ambassador to ICM".

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Dinner was certainly an odd affair. Minister Devenue kept his promise, the conversation was certainly interesting once the awkward moment of introduction had passed. As the three worked their way through an excellent potato and herb crusted snapper, subjects had flown by regarding magical theory, the difficulties of home renovation and whether the Secretary of the Sports Commission would get drunk again this year. At the last event, he had drunk too much elf-wine and flew his Firebolt around the hotel naked except for a lime green Speedo and a ladies brassiere he wore as a cap fastened around his chin.

Eventually, the trio returned to the hotel. Lucius Malfoys' hand on her forearm stopped her as Ambassador Devenue left to a private conference with the finance Minister.

"Miss Granger, if you could spare a moment. I would like a word."

He led her out a side door and to a quiet garden. Hermione had been surprised at the older Malfoy's candor and charm; her interactions with him up until tonight had either been hostile or tensely neutral. Now, she wasn't sure what to think. Apparently while she had been out of the country living in Paris, the Malfoy patriarch had apparently repaired his tarnished reputation and been appointed an Ambassador by the ICM, no small feat.

After seating her in a cushioned armchair, he took a seat across from her and signaled a waiter for a bottle of wine.

"Mr Malfoy, I've drunk more tonight then in the past month combined. I couldn't possibly have another."

"Nonsense, Miss Granger. We need to catch up."

"Pardon me for saying, sir but we have never been friends."

"Then perhaps we need to remedy that. The war is behind us, and as we have mutual aquaintances we will no doubt see each other again. Don't you think it's time to let go of the past?"

She looked up at him in surprise, then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. He wanted something, she was sure of it. She watched him carefully, waiting for the Lucius Malfoy that was always ready for a spot of muggle baiting to appear. True, the Malfoy line had switched sides several months before the war ended. It was also true that in the nearly seven years since Voldemort fell to Harry's wand, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been the very epitome of clean living. Yet, she had heard that Aurors still searched the Manor confiscating Dark objects on occasion. Unfortunately, they were (according to Ron) never of enough value to make an arrest.

Personally, Hermione was inclined to believe that it was unlikely that the Malfoys were foolish enough to leave anything of value in a place likely to be searched by the Ministry. Not to mention the fact that some of the most banal things in appearance could hold a great deal of evil-Tom Riddle's diary being a prime example.

Another minute was spent in silence before, "You should try this wine. It is an excellent vintage. Then you can ask me the question that is no doubt foremost in your mind."

She sipped at the dark red liquid, wincing in anticipation of the tannic bite, but it never came. Looking at the bottle, she realized that this wine was old enough to have lost it's edge, and now left a smooth finish that tasted a bit like tobacco.

"Mr. Malfoy, if I may be so bold as to ask how you managed to become an ambassador. I wasn't aware you were on friendly terms with the Ministry."

He laughed, a rich baritone that made her blush. He regarded her over his wineglass, a smile softening his features. At that moment she realized why women swooned over the males in the Malfoy family. He was really quite charming, and she briefly thought of the son. She knew Draco had been teaching at Hogwarts for a few years, and she wondered what Lucius thought of it.

"Ah, Gryffindor subtlety. I was expecting a question about Death Eater activity or pureblood snobbery, but you have taken me off guard. To answer your question, I became an ambassador in spite of, not because of the Ministry. Our beloved Minister and his gang of Aurors still distrust me as much as ever."

"Then, how…"

"Miss Granger, unlike in muggle society where an ambassador is appointed by the current Minister, a Magical ambassador merely represents the goals of the magical community at large. We are appointed by a council of our peers, which includes the current ambassador, to serve a ten year term. Ultimately, the Ministry serves those who elect them. An Ambassador represents the interests of those who share the long term vision of a society of magical elite. I don't need to make the Ministry happy; I only need to ensure the magically powerful stay that way. Many times, the Ministry works with the embassies to further both of our ends. In the past twenty years or so, that has not been the case. "

"I don't understand. You have different objectives?"

"Of course."

"How are they different?"

Lucius swirled the wine in his glass and considered the question. Casting a discreet warming charm around them, he watched her warm brown eyes, burning with curiosity. He now understood Draco's infatuation. Hermione Granger was truly a diamond in the rough. She was jagged around the edges, but with a bit of polish would be able to navigate the viper's nest of pureblooded society. He had given up the pureblood mania of his youth, but he still wanted the Malfoy line to be magically powerful, and Hermione Granger was certainly a powerful witch.

"Let me ask you a question", he began. "Would you consider the objectives of the muggleborn and hybrid populace to be fundamentally different than that of the purebloods?"

She gaped. "Of course."

"In what sense?"

"In every sense! They believed my kind should be exterminated like roaches. They tortured and killed us for no reason. They tortured me in the ballroom of your home, as you may recall."

"I have not forgotten."

"How can you even ask me that?" She shivered at the memory.

"Miss Granger, believe it or not most people did not join the Death Eaters because they liked to torture people. Many never took part in such atrocities, and most of those who did, acted under some sort of duress. We were not monsters, no matter what propaganda was shoved down your throat back then. Both Death Eaters and the Order fought for their vision of a perfect world. That vision was of course, rather different."

"You wanted to enslave us!"

"That's nonsense and you know it. Why would I need a human slave, I have house elves."

"Because you wanted us for, well…"she blushed.

"Miss Granger, if I wanted to use your for my sexual gratification, I would have charmed you with pretty words. If we were interested in breeding with you, our offspring would no longer be purebloods. Which would defeat the main purpose. The point you neglect to see is that I asked you about purebloods, not Death Eaters. You made the leap to link the two."

"Well, most Death Eaters were purebloods…"

"Yet, Voldemort was not. In fact, until he died I had trouble believing he was human enough be killed. Many purebloods fought with the Order, as you recall. Dumbledore himself was pureblooded."

She chewed her bottom lip and pondered.

"It is my understanding that British muggles have a royal family including a Queen. She is the latest in the ruling family line. Is that right?"

Nod.

"There is also an aristocracy, a group of high society people who surround the Queen and have titles, correct? They go to social events and interact pretty much with each other, and the rules seem a bit different for them. Only rarely does the Queen award a common born person a title and the unspoken right to move in those same circles, correct?"

"Yes, but if we work hard enough, we can have the money and power to move in those circles as well."

"Not true. Not true at all. That is a delusion you are raised with to encourage you to toe the line. You may eventually gain the money and maybe the power or title, but you will never get to move in the truly elite circles without the blessing of the royal family. Then, once you get there you have to earn the respect in those circles, it is not given to you because of your income or title. Yet, if you are of a certain bloodline, you can be a monarch even if you have the intelligence of a blast ended skrewt."

"I don't understand."

"Let me explain this differently. Miss Granger, you are a very wealthy woman. You have a seemingly bottomless amount of raw magical power, are disturbingly intelligent and have enough drive to put anyone in attendance here tonight to shame. Yet, I am willing to bet you didn't receive an invitation to the gala tonight."

She blushed more deeply, eyes flashing.

"That is the way purebloods look at themselves. We are the ruling and aristocratic class. Muggles can climb to a certain level, and then that is as far as they are likely to go without our endorsement. As we have mentioned, the Minister himself is not part of our world, and many would consider him the most powerful man in the country. The muggleborns want a seat at the table, but they want to take it by brute force or buy their way in. They haven't learned the game, and they don't know the rules."

"So you consider yourself more powerful than the Minister?"

"Depending on who you talk to. Certainly I carry more influence with a certain population."

She thought for a few minutes. He watched her, waiting to see if she understood the underlying context.

"So, why aren't you at the gala?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I don't usually attend without my wife, who is at home. Not to mention, I find this conversation infinitely more interesting. A woman who can converse intelligently is hard to come by, even in these circles. I believe that is part of the reason Monsieur Devenue is so fond of you. His friendship with you is seen as a type of endorsement to those who might question your right to be here."

"Despite my common Muggle birth."

"Of course. However, there were many who doubt that your lineage was purely muggle. Voldemort himself was certainly of that opinion."

"Why, because I bested the purebloods over and over?" She asked, feigning innocence.

"Partly. Also, Voldemort knew, and I don't believe that it is widely known that your patronus changed form."

"Molly Weasley said that it happens under extreme stress. I had just been tortured, as you may recall."

"You delight in reminding me of that, don't you? Nevertheless, the red-haired fishwife was partially right. Patronuses can and do change under extreme stress; that is, they do for those with already magical blood. There is no record of it ever happening to muggleborns and they have been persecuted for years. If it was going to manifest, it surely would have.

"Also, I believe it is also true that your wand somehow became waterlogged in the middle of a dry battlefield and had to be replaced after the final battle. That is an extremely rare occurrence, so rare in fact that Ollivander the Younger came to the Malfoy library to try to find a previous case."

"Surely other wands have had odd things happen to them."

"Not if you were using your own wand and it was undamaged. What Ollivander found fascinating was that your wand core n longer suited you and needed to be changed for much more rare ingredients. Your wand wood didn't, but the core did. That is what is particularly rare."

"And because of that you think I am not a muggleborn."

"If you are, you would be an exceedingly rare and intriguing muggleborn. One might even go so far as to say, an exceptional one. This draws the powerful to you; I believe that I've already mentioned that Voldemort was obsessed with you. As was Bellatrix; and as insane as she was, she was an extremely powerful witch. Of course, there was Dumbledore and McGonagall. Even our beloved Minister has taken a special interest in you, despite your refusal to work for him no matter what he offers you."

"Professor Snape is a powerful wizard. He hated me, and has told me himself that he has only recently been able to tolerate my presence."

Her face was burning, as much as she loved to hear praise, it still made her uncomfortable. Lucius Malfoy would rather cut out his tongue than praise her, at least the Lucius Malfoy she had known during the war would have. This Lucius Malfoy seemed to completely accept her as both a witch, and even as a sort of equal. It was very odd.

Lucius chuckled and pulled out a cigar. After glancing at her to make sure she wouldn't object, he went through the process of sniffing, clipping then finally lighting the cigar. Inhaling deeply, he blew out a stream of smoke, making sure it was not in her direction. He chose his words carefully, as though he knew he was walking a fine line.

"I believe that Severus has a tendency to lash out at those with who evoke strong emotions in him. His godson shares that particular nasty habit. Of course, with the war now behind us, we can look beyond mere reflexive anger and see the bigger picture in front of us."

"Which is?"

"That blood is merely one way in which we are measured."

Their eyes locked, and she opened her mouth to ask him to explain himself. At that moment, a portly man pirouetted out the door and into the garden wearing a shower curtain and what appeared to be a tea cosy. They both burst out laughing, and the moment was broken.

After a group of security wizards took the man back inside, they sat in the garden while Lucius smoked and the two finished the wine. The cigar wasn't as offensive as those her uncle used to smoke. He explained that this particular cigar was one of a boxful from the Cuban Minister and had been aged for almost a decade.

When he finished, they walked into the hotel and entered the lift. Hermione pushed a button and he stood next to her silently. As she arrived at her floor, he followed her off the lift and down the heavily carpeted halls to her door. Taking her key card from her, he inserted it into the slot and pushed the door open. Then, he turned and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

"Good night, Miss Granger. I hope to see you at breakfast in the morning." She smiled, and he walked past her down the hall to the lift. Tonight was an extremely odd night, and she hoped that it would all make more sense when she awakened and the wine had worn off. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Lucius Malfoy made his way to his suite deep in thought. Hermione Granger would add considerably to the Malfoy line; Draco had clearly chosen well. She handled herself very well this evening, with only a few mistakes in etiquette; impressive considering her working class upbringing. He couldn't think of a single pureblood that could complement his son as well as she. He suspected their courtship would be rocky and likely whip society matrons into a frenzy of epic proportions.

Excellent.

It was time for a bit of scandal. The Malfoys had kept a low profile for far too long. It was time to re-establish themselves on the throne (figuratively speaking, of course) of society.

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Coming up next…Dinner at the Malfoys, and the Tea from Hell.

This is the recipe that Hermione had at the restaurant. I've made it and it was awesome.

Potato and Herb Crusted Snapper with Yellow Pepper Salas

Also, here is a link to the song that the story is named after. I discovered this band about a year ago, Alas, they only perform in the Pacific Northwest so I'll probably never get to see them. The song is track #10 on the Evolve CD:

Gaia Consort


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